


The Blade Between Bones

by Arika_Rare



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Alternate Canon, Celaena Lavellan - Freeform, F/M, My First Work in This Fandom, My Lavellan, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arika_Rare/pseuds/Arika_Rare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight months after the events of Trespasser, Celaena Lavellan stays true to her promise. Determined to tear apart Fen'Harel's plot, Lavellan scours the Tevinter border for the Dread Wolf's bases. One night, her obsession leads her to a place she never wanted to go. Her body and mind seems no longer her own and the emotions of the past take hold once more. Mythal whispers and Lavellan answers. Contains Major Spoilers. NSFW in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Thread Between Ribs

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note:  
> My novel is currently around 300 pages long. This is about seventy percent done. I’ve been working my ass off on it for ages, through university assignments, crippling illnesses but also fun times. Sometimes the road its easy, other times is hard. When I can’t walk, I come to this glade and I write fanfiction. And its a great exercise for writer’s block, to clear my head and stop analyzing. I just write. And I remember why I love it.
> 
> Sappy shizz aside, hello! It’s been about seven years since I wrote fanfiction as a teenager but Dragon Age is super close to my heart so I wanted to share with everyone the ideas that float around in my head. I hope you enjoy it even a little, even though it’s a little self-indulgent. Please be gentle with me. D:  
> Before you read, I’ll just explain the timeline. Celaena Lavellan is my Inquisitor, and this story takes place Post-Tresspasser, about eight months after. I wouldn’t say this story was part of my canon, more the idle musing of what could happen in the time between the next game. It briefly features my Hawke too, Kalafina, as well as other characters. I’d like to think I’m pretty knowledgeable when it comes to DA lore and I’m currently reading World of Thedas Vol. 2. However there are probably some errors when it comes to lore and language, but please bear with me. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy these little ramblings. I’ll try update when I can but for medical reasons I can’t write as much as I’d like. If you like what you see, feel free to visit me @arika-rare on tumblr! I’d love to hear from you. Thank you for being sparkly <3

Celaena sat at the seat by the window, looking out into the inky night. There was nothing out there- not the shimmer of stars or the warm lights from nearby homes; just endless plains of half dead grass and earth. She wondered if there were even creatures stirring in that night, hunting for prey, travelling through that unknown space. Wolves, slinking away further and further. She perched her head onto her knees and turned her attention to the reflection of candlelight on the windowpane. It was steady, reliable, simple. The door creaked opened behind her into her tiny room. The wooden hut serving as Celaena’s base only had three rooms, all wind-worn old wood that creaked and groaned. Most of her companions slept in the front room, sprawled about the floor in any blankets or material they could find. No one asked to sleep in the same room as Celaena- no one wanted to broach that subject. She turned to the intruder. Hawke stepped in like she owned the room, confident strides. She wore a nightshirt, no doubt stolen from Fenris’ bags. Despite Fenris’ slight frame, the nightshirt seemed to swamp Hawke. She did not let her short height and boyish frame affect her confidence as she wrinkled her nose and cocked her head at Celaena.  

“Well it's not much better in here is it?” She flopped onto the bed, brushing blood red hair from her eyes. Celaena gave her a ghost of a smile.  

“What are you doing up?” 

“Says the mysterious brooding elf,” Hawke said with a roll of her eyes. “Let's cut the formalities shall we?” Celaena sat up straight, dropping her feet back to the floor and her back to the abyss of the window.  

“I’ll sleep in due time,” Celaena said. “When we have recovered the Eluvians in this area, I will relax.”  

“See now that sounds an awful lot like what you said last week in Nevarra,” Hawke replied. “And somehow it sounds _just_ as convincing.” Celaena shook her head.  

“The work is never done is it?”  

“I've no idea. I'll let you know when my to-do list is finished.” Celaena snorted. Hawke grinned.  

“Look I'm not going to tell you ‘you need rest’ and all that nonsense, because you're a smart woman and you know all that. But the whole ‘haunted Inquisitor losing her mind’ stuff isn't sitting well with the men.” Celaena grimaced.  

“Is that what they think of me?” She asked.  

“Well not in so many words, but yeah, they're thinking it,” Hawke shrugged. “Andraste knows that's what I bloody think.”  

“You're very blunt.” Hawke stood with fluid feline grace.

“All I'm saying is at least keep face,” she said. “I came to help you thinking we had a chance at tracing this…plot. I want to smash some shitfaces heads in, not be your counsellor. The men need to see a leader and if you pretend you have it in you, it might start being true.” Celaena frowned and stood to face Hawke. Their legs were brushing in the tiny room, soft breath stirring Hawkes hair.  

“I think you should go back to sleep,” Celaena said.  

“Good. Now we’ve aired out our opinions nicely,” Hawke purred. She pulled the door open, to find Fenris leaning on the wall opposite. Hawke grabbed his arm and dragged him back to bed. He made sure to glare at Celaena before he disappeared. Celaena went to sit on her bed. She counted five minutes before she grabbed her gear and threw herself out of the window and into the abyss.  

 

Sunrise tugged at the corner of the skies and smashed into Celaena like a bucket of ice water. How long had she been walking? Where was she even headed? All she remembered was putting one foot in front of the other, over and over. No direction, no plan- but she never stopped moving at that frantic pace. She struggled for breath. Had she been sprinting and not realised? When had it begun to rain? Even now, pulling herself along a long forgotten stream that wove through two great stone hills, she could not stop. She stared down at herself, trying to gather her thoughts. She was soaking wet and not just from traversing the water- the rain had soaked her bones hours before. She'd brought her weapons but hadn't remembered picking anything up after slipping her boots on. Her backpack wasn't with her- potions, lyrium, food and trinkets were abandoned. She turned to the ghost at her side- the phantom limb still aching despite how long it had been since blood pumped through that arm. Her elaborate metal gauntlet was attached to the stump, complete with its spikes and clawed gloved. The valves inside were in place, ready to set it alight, to turn her into a burning woman. She looked back up again and squinted in the dark. She hadn't even brought a lantern. Her hand was numb and dead at her right side. Panic laced through her limbs, like the water finally soaking through her mind. A thousand questions screamed in her brain, all on top of each other, unending, echoing, agonising. Celaena swore as her breath clouded in front of her and her feet kept their rhythm. The stream became steeper, flowing upwards. Water did not flow against gravity- not unless there was magic involved. Even in her delirium, Celaena could tell it was not her own doing. So she was in control of her magic at the very least. She headed up the crag, scrambling across rocks. This wasn't the first cliff she’d scaled, her bloody knuckles told her. She'd been climbing these rocks for a while. She finished with a final jump up into the backwards waterfall and straight into the gaping maw of a cave. Shadows flung across her as she plunged into the darkness. She landed in a roll, tumbling down some stairs. With a slam of metal armour, she landed at the foot of the cave stairs. Finally her limbs ceased and her senses returned to her. She pulled herself up into a crouch to survey her surroundings. Torches lined the walls as the rough and water worn stone gave way to smooth marble stonework, elaborately carved. Someone had hastily pulled away the weeds and vines to clear a path deeper into the passageway, where more flickering lights led deeper. Celaena stood, drew her sword and crept deeper. Within a few moments the passage snaked off into half a dozen other corridors, all brightly lit and cleared. Murals lined the marble but whatever story they told had faded away long ago. Voices bounced off the walls in the distance. Shadows flickered in one hallway, edging closer. Celaena hurried down another corridor, back pressed to the cold stone and listened. The voices grew louder.  

“…southern corridor has caved in- I'll report to the others to clear it as soon as I can.”  

“ _Ma_ _Abelas,_ ” replied another voice. “I will relay the information on.” The first speaker was undoubtedly Orlesian, but she lacked the refinery of a noble. A servant, a mercenary perhaps? The second voice spoke elven. Celaena sucked in a breath. She swore, waited for the sound of footsteps to disappear before pulling out of the tunnel. And her feet found a new rhythm to follow, pulling her after the footsteps, down into the warm light and straight into trouble. She tried to stop herself but it was as if she was trying to move her phantom limb- there was nothing to control, no joints to pull. Like a spirit in her own body she watched in horror as she hurried down the passageway. The corridor snaked away multiple times but she kept going, down deeper into the rock. Finally the passageway opened out into a great stone room. A dozen elves lined the walls, moving away rubble and debris, searching. Three stood in the centre of the great stone chamber, one craning their head towards the roof where intricately carved stonework hid in the shadows. The room was too long for her to closer inspect what lay at the other end- and she had run out of time.  

“Intruder!” Someone shouted.  

“Another elf? Here?” Said one by the wall. For a moment they all just seemed to gawk at her, murmuring. Celaena stared back, equally dazed.  

“She’s not one of ours.”  

“What's that armour?”  

“Were we inspecting backup?”  

“How did she get past the checkpoints?” A voice cut above all the others, echoing.  

“Dispose of them.” The elves surged forward like a wave, weapons drawn. The blood roaring in Celaena’s ears returned feeling to her body. Where her arm had been, fire burned. It engulfed half her body.  

“Come near me and burn,” she growled. The advance stopped. Someone dropped the staff they were holding.  

“The Inquisitor!” They called.  

“What?” The voice from the other side of the room drew closer. From behind a stone pillar they stepped, graceful limbs and pride. Their ancient elven armour shone gold and amber. A wolves pelt hung over one shoulder, keeping an impressive staff of gold and emerald pinned to the impressive warriors back. All that power and majesty faltered as the figure staggered at the sight of her.  

“ _Vhenan_?”  

“Solas?”  


	2. The Unfathomable Gesture

 

It only took a second for Solas- no, for Fen’Harel to regain his composure. Celaena saw that cold mask slide back into place, the gears of his brain shutting away his heart and his mind to her. Just as before, she watched the man she loved disappear behind a thousand stone walls. He clasped his hands behind his back. The rest of his companions stood looking between them both, awaiting some sort of order or action. Celaena’s hand still burned, consuming the right side of her body. It spread an angry red light about the cavern.

“I admit, I am surprised to find you here,” Solas said.

“You thought I would break my promise? That I would not hunt you?” Celaena snapped. Where his voice was calm and cool, hers spiked with raw anger. Her very body jerked with each word.

“I do not doubt you will continue chasing me,” he replied, turning away from her. He scanned the high roof where the murals continued, disappearing into the darkness. “But the fact you have managed to catch up to me is unexpected.” He turned his head to peer over his shoulder at her. “How many did you slay to get to me?” Celaena flinched, the fire at her side guttering to a dull ember about her phantom limbs.

“There was no one to guard you,” she said. “Your _fanatics_ did not see me enter. You do not surround yourself with many defences.” Solas frowned at this, showing the faintest flicker of emotion and a tiny victory for Celaena. He turned to one of his companions.

“Is this so?” he asked. The nearest servant, an elven girl barely clear of adolescence, seemed to cower at his very gaze, whether from fear or awe Celaena did not know.

“There should have been guards at the cave entrance and along the way for miles,” the girl said, bowing her head. Solas narrowed his eyes and turned to Celaena once more.

“You are alone and you surpassed my defences somehow,” he said. “How did you do such a thing?” Celaena felt her voice drop away into the depths of her body, shrinking back. What was she to tell him, that some unnatural force had pushed her hours across the wilds to a mysterious cave she knew nothing about? That she did not feel herself, her body possessed by some violent emotion? She had stared into the wolf’s jaws and stepped right in. She stayed silent. Solas raised his head a little higher, as if he were looking down on her.

“Most curious. I am afraid I cannot allow interruption. You are alone. I have extensive forces. It would please me if you were to leave. By the time you gather whatever reinforcements you have, I shall be gone.” He turned away, went back to the shadows. Celaena’s fire flared at her arm, spitting sparks with a roar. She wanted to lurch forwards, to burn whatever forgotten relic had brought him within her grasp. To continue the chase and hope that whatever game they were playing would never have an end. That nothing would come of his journey and nothing of hers either. She was ready to draw her sword at her belt, to lurch forward and cut down the servants that were already creeping towards her. Yet that wash of cold calm came over her again, the mindless movement she had no control over. She took a step back and then another. The air grew tight in her lungs. It was too warm, her fire was dying away to reveal the cold stump of her arm, even when inside she was burning. She grabbed one of the pillars as her body dragged her back, like a force of wind pushing her away. Was this him? But she had not even known she would meet him, be anywhere near him.

“Solas!” she cried. He stopped, half in shadow, half in the erratic amber glow she let out. She dug her nails into the stone, drawing blood as gravity seemed to push her back. Her fire disappeared completely and so did the ever present force controlling her. She staggered against the rock wall, panting. She glared at him as he tilted his head ever so slightly.

“Something is wrong,” he murmured. Celaena growled, threw herself into the crowd of servants as they advanced on her. In an explosion of fire, she sent their charred bodies hurtling against the walls. She hadn’t meant to burn them so, to extinguish their life so fast. But they were dust before they hit the floor, charred bones and blackened flesh. With the peons dealt with, Celaena turned on the rogues behind her, snarling like a feral beast. A cloaked elf was already upon her, slashing out with his daggers as another loaded his bow. Celaena parried the dagger with her sword, a graceless flick of her wrist that ruined her attacking stance. She dodged behind the pillar as the arrow whizzed past her ears. The rogue followed her, quick footwork and quicker movements. She brought her sword up to block a blow to the face, the edge of her own blade pressed back so much she almost cut her own skin. She pushed forwards, knocking her attacker back. The other rogue had repositioned himself, readying to fire at her again. She sent a tongue of fire to incinerate the arrow before it pierced her. The rogue pulsed forward again, both daggers drawn and slashing down towards her. Celaena was going to dodge away, to gain better ground but that ghostly feeling gripped her limbs once more. Like a puppet, her arms raised and a spray of ice knocked the servant back. She stepped forward, with a surety and confidence she did not feel, and raised her shortened arm. A blade of ice tore through the earth, pinning her attackwe against the pillar. Frost froze him in place, suspending his life in a frozen cocoon. Her other hand swept out, doing the same to the marksman. A stamp of her foot sent a final wave to the remaining members of the cavern that hadn’t been charred to ash. Bodies slammed against the wall-dust from the old earth. The cold possession ceased. Solas stood in the centre of the carnage untouched. The strings snapped away and Celaena dropped to the floor, raking in desperate breaths. She couldn’t stop shaking and the fire of her metal arm had begun lighting itself again. It flared up, then extinguished, then guttered and spurted sparks like an erratic heartbeat. Solas took a few steps towards her.

“You must tell me what is going on, _vhenan_ ,” he said in a cool, slow voice. As if he was talking to a caged animal, a wounded and erratic child.

“Don’t!” she snarled. “Don’t call me that! Do not say those words.” The fire engulfed her, flaring across her entire body but not burning her. Solas disappeared in the flame. A second later the fire convulsed back into her body, wisps of smoking trailing off her skin. Solas still stood there with that calculated look, ever analytical. So like the time he first touched her, first thrust her cold hands into the rifts, so sure of his knowledge and her power.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she swore, trying to hold herself upright. Her body wanted to collapse before him in a pitiful heap, but she stayed sat up, gritting her teeth. She tried to stand and staggered back against a pillar, sliding back to the floor. Solas approached her, hand outstretched. Celaena shied from that touch, the foreign coldness holding the man she had loved. This wasn’t him.

“Don’t!” Celaena warned. “Don’t!” He gave her an apologetic smile. All the while her mind was screaming, gripped by the foreign cold force once again. _Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t be real. Don’t make me think, don’t look at me._

“ _Ma abelas, vhenan_ ,” he said. And he sounded like himself. Not Fen’Harel, but Solas. Like the time he had helped her bandage her leg after she stumbled into a ditch in the Emerald Graves. She had been distracted by reading the faded names on the graves. He had poked and prodded the cut, apologised when she yelled out. That small smile, a tiny apology, an easy comfort in his presence. It was the same face. “ _Ma abelas_.” Those kind eyes melted away into blue lights she could not look away from. The azure light engulfed her vision, filled her mouth and her ears and constricted every fibre of her being. She fell away into that light, into memory before she could stop him.


	3. A Burning Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!  
> I apologise for the delay. I've been working non stop on two art commissions and my novel, which has left me little time for much else. Thank you so much for the positive feedback so far! I never thought I'd get so many readers so fast- you guys are amazing sparkles.  
> I hope you all have a brilliant winter holiday season. Due to the holidays, there probably won't be another update until the new year. The story is meant to be a swift one though, so I'm really looking forward to showing you guys some more soon. Make sure you all look after yourselves and relax with a good video game this winter! I'll see you all in the new year! <3

Fen’ Harel fought the unending feeling to pry Celaena’s limp form from his servants hands and take her to his own quarters. To have her lie amongst the silks there, the sunlight illuminating her hair like stars, would be a picture of older times. Times he could no longer return to. So he ordered for Celaena to be placed in an old empty room in one of the dozens of towers in the great ruined castle. Hours after their encounter, he went to check on her in the name of research. Whatever affliction was plaguing Celaena was old magic and no doubt something he could use to create further chaos- to tear the very world apart. So he sat in a wooden chair in the dead of night, only a single candle lighting  Celaenas makeshift cell. The only furniture was an old bed, half rotten, an armoire and the faded wooden seat he sat in. Even in her fever, her weakened state, she was an unearthly beauty. Her moonlight hair had been cut short- she had always shaved it on one side and continued the odd fashion, except the rest of her hair was straight and short, barely falling past her chin. When he had left her, what seemed lifetimes ago, her hair had been long, obscuring her worn face. Now he could gaze on her freely. Her sunken eyes usually big and bright were shut, eyelids fluttering in fevered dreaming. Great weary bags surrounded them, making her eyes seem tired black holes. The shower of red freckles gave her a permanent blush, but she was deathly pale beneath the colour. Her breathing was shallow. Her white eyelashes fluttered as if she would awaken but she shifted instead, curling in on herself. Unmarred by makeup and  _vallaslin_ , she looked real, fresh despite her ailment. He looked to the space where her arm once was and felt his stomach drop to the floor. For it was he who stole that arm, he who created the plan that unintentionally made her the anchor, the Inquisitor. Even so sick and fragile, she looked as strong as ever. He would not soon forget that burning vision of her fiery body as she snarled at him, all chaos and violence. She was entirely different and exactly the same all at once. And it sickened him.   

 

Celaena knew he was there. And not just in the way he peered on her in dreams, from afar and always out of reach. She felt his presence on the room like a bloodstain, a fingerprint. That fresh smell of earth and incense still clung to some of her clothes no matter how many times she washed them. She smelt it then as she dreamed, permeating every memory. She forced herself to wake, as if pushing herself out of a dream. She slid forwards, eyes snapping open. She peered around the room, somewhat relieved to find she was alone. Sunlight slipped through a high slit serving as a window, barely wider than a finger. Dust swirled in the air as Celaena sat up with a groan. Every muscles ached, skin overly sensitive as if the very air burnt. The room was small and ancient, everything covered in a film of dust. There was only enough room to wedge a small bed inside, with a rotting armoire and a chair in the corner. The covers were also covered in dust, much of it now in Celaena’s lungs. She rubbed her eyes with a shudder. Even in her foggy state of mind she knew this was not where she had fallen asleep. This was not the cottage of her ragtag team. So she remembered Solas and the burning fire and swore. She kicked at the chair, sending it clattering at an ancient stone wall. Standing with a groan, she managed to stagger through exhaustion to the old wooden door. It was lined with elaborate iron work, long rusted. She smashed her fist on the door.  

“Hey!  _Fenedhis_! Open the door or I'll burn it down!” She waited, ear pressed to the wood. There was only silence on the other side.  

“Don't blame me if you end up toasted,” she murmured. She raises a hand, conjuring a warm globe of ember in her palm. She hurled it at the door. It bounced off of the wood, meeting some invisible surface long before the flames could burn through the wood. Celaena yelped as the fireball flew back towards her. She batted it away with her hand and stamped it to the floor. It went out leaving a small black mark on the stone.  

“Of course,” Celaena said. She reached out a hand, sending a small rain of sparks at the door. They poured over the invisible barrier in a flash of blue lights. Like a curtain of light the barrier appeared, moving and rippling like water. Celaena shook her head.  

“Fuck,” she swore. “Andraste’s flaming knickers. Fuck.” Celaena thought of a few more curse words she had picked up over the years with her companions. She tried to bat away the lonely wave of nostalgia that came over her, focusing on the tasks ahead. What would they do in this situation? Bull would probably do as she did, start smashing any hard surface in hopes she could break the walls down. Dorian would say something sarcastic, trying to take the sting out of the tension. Cole would panic, Vivienne would probably sit down and wait so she could humiliate her enemy when he came to check on her in person. Cassandra, Cullen, Blackwall, they'd all wait and try be as sensible as possible. Josephine would devise a diplomatic strategy for negotiation. Lelianna would probably have already escaped and killed everyone- she was far too smart to get captured so easily. Sera would urge Celaena to blow something up or maybe just draw crude drawings on all the antique furniture. Varric  would regale them with some similar story of how he and Hawke would have been trapped in somewhere ten times worse. It'd make Celaena laugh and take the sting out. And Solas… 

Solas would tell her to stay calm. But Solas wasn't around anymore- whatever man she had fallen for was gone. Celaena craned her head up to the beam of daylight. In a second she flung her body at the barrier with a weak cry. She bounced off of it, all the force she put in flinging her right back against the stone. She crashed against the stone, biting the inside of her mouth, knocking her head on the old brick. Despite her disorientation she kept moving. Her fingers found the bricks, digging her fingernails into the mortar that held them together. She drove in, drawing blood and fought to control the withered earth. Yet it was not like drawing from the living breathing world- whatever this place was, it was saturated in magic and clouded in time. She smashed her fists against it, frost and sparks spurting from her fingers. The hole, the phantom of her arm, slammed against the wall. She smashed and hammered and screamed. 

  

 

"By the gods, what is she doing?" Someone asked. Other had posed the same questions. At first, her breakout efforts were ignored. After it became apparent she would not stop anytime soon, someone slammed on the door and threatened to come in and knock her out. The door opened eventually and Celaena flung herself at it but the barrier remained in place, unwavering. A guard in Dalish hunters armour shouted at her to stop. After watching her for a few minutes, he disappeared to consult another. Three guards returned with him. They discussed whether to go into the cell. Celaena grew wilder, trying to set her bed on fire. She couldn’t conjure enough flame in the tiny cell without setting herself on fire first, so she went back to hurtling herself at the wall. She lost track of how long she fought against her restraints. The crowd outside her door grew. They murmured amongst themselves, long since giving up on trying to reason with her. Soon anxiety set in and Celaena relished their panic.  

“She's going to kill herself,” one woman said, a shadow of a girl in servants clothing holding a pile of linens. “Look, she's already bleeding.” 

“But he said not to be disturbed! She is but a prisoner, we cannot bother him with such matters.”  

“If she continues she'll be no good to anyone. She won't listen to reason.”  

“Hasn't anyone tried to go in there? Restrain her?”  

“Are you mad? She'll burn you alive!”  

The voices blurred into one. These weren't her people.  _If you're not with us, you're against us._  Celaena choked on the thought, the unhealthy realisation. She staggered back, drew in a shaking breath and looked herself over. Her knuckles were a bloody mess along with her nails. She was only dully aware of the pain. There were scrapes all up her arms. A blow to her head dripped at one side, down into her eye. She wiped it away with the back of her hand but just smeared more blood around her face. She spat onto the floor, a crimson stain on the base of the armoire. The crowd dispersed as she slipped to the floor. Her fist pounded dully at the shield, a rhythmic drumming. If she stopped, she was scared she would never start resisting again.  _Tired, tired, so tired, just sleep, just stop caring. Fuck them, fuck them all._  

 

When she looked up again, he was stood there. Always watching from the distance with eyes the colour of ice. They cut through everything- through dreams, through truths, lies and the endless lines of the world that separated them. Her fist kept its pounding pace as if it were the only thing keeping her alive. As soon as she glanced up at him, she looked back down. Even in that second she drank all of him in- the ever noble stance, the elegant set of his shoulders, folded hands behind his back. Without his golden armour, donning simple elven robes the colour of a green summer, he looked normal. He sought her gaze, bending down in front of the barrier before her.  _As if to talk to a naughty child_ , she thought.  

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he breathed. Celaena grit her teeth, fought the wave of a thousand memories. He had called her that so many times in so many ways. An embrace, a plea, a warning, a laugh, a smile, a good night- a goodbye.  

“Don't,” Celaena whispered. Her voice was hoarse. She kept pounding her bloody fist on the blue wall. Solas’ hand floated up to meet hers between the barrier but hesitated just before he mirrored his own palm against her own. His hand dropped to his side and he frowned. 

“Please stop doing that,” he said. Celaena’s hand fell to her side. She glared at it and refused to meet his gaze.  

“What is it you want? I'd rather you say it, than keep me locked up here. Tell me the truth for once.” Solas flinched at the venom in her voice. Celaena took some secret pride in getting him to react, to feel a fraction of the misery he'd inflicted on her. He cleared his throat, composing himself. He stood a few steps away from the barrier now.  

“You always were straight forward,” he said, almost to himself. “So quick to the point. So precise.” Celaena finally graced him with her glare. She tried not to look at him too much. As if she could look through him.  

“We must talk, you are correct,” he said. “If only so it will stop you from harming yourself any further.” With a flick of his wrist, the barrier dissolved like rainfall. Celaena watched the tiny blue lights fade away into the stone floor. She was too exhausted to even stand, to even attempt to shove Solas away and sprint down the corridor. What chances had she against a god anyway? She shook her head as if she could shake away the pessimism that seized her. Solas held out a hand to help her up. She scrabbled against the doorframe instead, using the stones to pull herself up.  

“This must be the first time you were ever so willing to talk” she murmured.  

“Keeping you in this room solves nothing,” he replied, turning his back on her. Celaena exited the room on shaking legs. The crowd from earlier stood to the side, gawking. They shied away into a stairwell at the opposite end of the hall. Their eyes were afraid.  

“What, so you will take me bloody and beaten to some other mystery room? Perhaps we should have a servant of yours bring tea and we can pour over that old volume on elven folk tales you were so fond of.” Solas’ shoulders rose, as if he was shrugging. They stayed by his ears, bracing himself.  

“If I wanted to Celaena,” he said, saying her name like it was a weapon. “I could make you do whatever I wished. And that is precisely the problem. There are two great afflictions affecting you- and one allows me entire control over you.”  

 


	4. Molten Throats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. I managed to badly injure my shoulder which was greaaaaat for writing. But I survived!
> 
> Anyway I just wanted to remind ya'll that due to medical issues, I cannot update as often as I like. If there are long gaps between chapters, I sincerely apologize. However, I do what I can when I can and I hope you can bear with these slow updates. My writing is a labour of love, a lot of hard work and all I want at the end of the day is for everyone to enjoy it. 
> 
> Enough mushy stuff aside, let's get to the elves! I hope you enjoy this longer chapter and are having a happy new year!

Celaena stopped in the corridor.  

“What?” She asked. Solas stared at her.  

“Come, we have much to discuss.” He began walking down the corridor once more. The sunlight poured in from the larger windows, casting Solas in light, then shadow, then light again.  

“Have you grown so egomaniacal you truly believe you have control over me? You think this is a game now?” Solas peered over his shoulder at her, unfazed by the situation.  

“Celaena,” he said matter-of-factly. “You can barely stand. Here is not the place.” Celaena watched the floor around her ebb and flow like she was stood knee deep in the sea. Her head was crashing, shaking. She refused to grab the wall for support. She glared at him for a few more moments, as if in defiance. Solas began walking once more and disappeared around the corner. Celaena realised defiance was pointless. Her only other option was to crawl back inside her cell, which would not help her situation in the slightest. She felt the weight of a dozen stares at her back. The servants awaited her next move. With a crushing pressure in her temples, Celaena followed Solas. Each step felt like an uphill struggle, her teeth grit through the wave of pain each movement sent echoing through her body. The light stung her eyes, the floor shifted. Everything had an angry red outline. Solas paused to let her to catch up. She came to his side slowly- she would not run for him. They went down a spiral staircase, descending the tower she had been kept in. It was not particularly grand, with minimal carving in the architecture. A servants section? Celaena counted three floors as she passed, each showing corridors identical to the one she had been kept on, with small cell-like rooms. The walls were damp, as if it has rained recently and leaked through the cracks of the castle. The stones steps were worn, dipping in the middle. Solas didn't look at Celaena but he probably knew what she was doing- searching her surroundings, looking for some way out, some weakness. No doubt if she did find some crack, it would be fortified with magic like the remarkably powerful barrier that held her upstairs. They finished their descent. A great oak door barred their way. With a sweep of his hand, the rusted iron lock slid away with a screech. The door slid open into a much more extravagant hallway. The windows were clear glass with thick black ironwork running throughout in a diamond pattern. Faded crimson rugs lined the dark stone floor, cracked throughout and missing tiles in places. The doors were black varnished wood, peeling and rotting. Elaborate stonework columns lined the walls and an archway at the end of the hall lead off to another part of the castle. Solas strode down the hallway, passing every room. Celaena tried to catch a glimpse through an open door. There was only furniture covered in sheets, old mysteries. They turned right at a crossroads, down another hallway. At the end, double doors laid open to large room. Solas cast a final glance over his shoulder to check Celaena had not turned to run. Even in her furious mood she was not so foolish as to bolt for freedom in such an exhausted state. Any number of servants and enemies could lie within the decaying castle. She didn't even have her gear, her staff. If she made it into the wild she would not last the night.  

They entered a library. The bookcases were built into the curved walls, black marble half crumbled. Some of the shelves were entirely empty, others jam-packed with books. Some were rotten paper, others more intact volumes. Scrolls littered the floor like leaves, as well as on the large marble desk at the centre. One of its legs had snapped away, but it remained level, floating slightly off the ground.  

“Please sit,” Solas said, motioning to a chair. Celaena glared at his back as he approached a side table lined with refreshments. He poured himself a cup of tea, steaming hot through some magic. She wanted to hurl the heaviest volume at his back but whatever “control” he had over her probably prohibited as much. She shuddered and slid into the chair furthest away from him. Solas turned and frowned when he the distance. He slid a second cup across the table to her. It slipped across the space, landing precisely in front of her.  

“I promise I mean you no harm,” he said. “I do not want you feeling any discomfort.”  

“I'm coughing blood onto the floor,” Celaena said to the mug. “I'm not exactly the picture of health right now.” She shoved the cup to the side. “Besides how am I to trust a word you say? If you have “control” over me, you can make me do whatever you want anyway. Why don't you just will me into compliance?” Celaena felt a guilty pang of triumph as Solas turned away. With one hand on his hip, he looked to the great arched window that spanned the entire south wall. It looked out onto an endless stretch of grey skies and greyer mountains.  

“It is not that simple,” Solas said.  

“Is it ever?” Celaena breathed. With a shiver she realised how frigid the air was. She pulled the mug back towards her and clasped her hands around the hot ceramic. Solas drank and pulled a face as he swallowed the pungent liquid down. He always made that face- he hated tea. He'd drink so much of it, so that he could traverse the Fade so well, he told her. She had taken to drinking it too out of sympathy, but the sharp earthy taste was always a comfort to her. Perhaps because she was with him and it didn't matter what anything tasted or looked like. She choked back the memory, sipping the tea. It went down like fire in her throat, slipping through her bones. It did not ease the pain in her body.  

“You say you didn't mean to find me that night?” Solas asked. Celaena looked to the open library door. No servants hung at the door frame- this was a private space. She had half expected armed guards, swords ready to fight for Fen’Harel.

“I always meant to find you. I just didn't think you were so close,” Celaena said. She tried leaning back in her chair, to at least feign comfort. It was hard and cold and jabbed into her aching joints. Every move rattled the pain in her body back to life.

“Then how did you end up at the ruin?” He was still only half turned to her, his eyes fixated on something she could not see outside.  

“I walked. There weren't any griffons hanging around for a ride,” Celaena sighed. Her sarcasm was ignored where once it had been graced with a tiny smile.   

“But you did not know of the ruin? That I would be there?”  He took a step forward, as if to take the seat beside her. He thought better of it and sat at the foot of the table instead, folding his elegant limbs into the high backed antique.

“As much as I'd like to boast about my tracking skills over the last few months- no. I came across it.”  Celaena shrugged, focused on breathing in and out. She tried not to meet his eyes entirely. Perhaps she could stare at his ears instead, see through him.

“It was hidden in a crevasse. It is on no maps. It took me a week to locate,” Solas replied. He cocked his head slightly, hands clasped on the table in front of them.

“Well, I'm Dalish. We're used to the wild,” Celaena said. Then she narrowed her eyes. “But that's unbecoming of _the people_ , isn't it? You always hated the Dalish.”  He frowned in reply.

“This isn't about the Dalish. At least, I think not.”  What was this? Solas unsure? Celaena shook her head.

“Get to the point. You obviously know something I don't.”  

“So you came upon the cave by chance?”  He made no hint at what this conversation entailed. Eight months apart after a horrific goodbye and they talked of dank old caves. Celaena could not stand the dance of dishonesty. She was not one for the Orlesian game- subtleties and sugared words were not her trade.

“I don't…I don't know. It was like sleepwalking. I wasn't myself that night.”  Celaena propped her elbow on the table, resting her head on one hand.

“I thought of you,” Solas murmured. Her head shot back up. She practically flew out of her seat.

“What?”  Solas wouldn’t meet her eyes again. She almost thought she could see a shadow of a blush in the cold light.

“That night. I stood in those ruins, studying the murals. And I thought how lovely they were and how much you would have enjoyed them. And I thought of you.” He paused, massaging his forehead with two fingers. “As I so often do,” he added with a sigh. It took Celaena a moment to remember how to speak. 

“Wh-what are you getting at?”  Solas stood, began pacing at the opposite side of the table.

“I thought of you the entire time I was there. Of your face, of how I left you, how I wanted to- I remembered you. And then you were there before me. After so much time.”  He became still. He looked at her properly for the first time in almost a year. Like he was really seeing her again. She felt as if she had just been slapped across the face. As if he had plunged his hand through her ribcage and squeezed her heart.

“I didn't expect to see you,” was all she could say. Solas made a dismissive gesture. He resumed his pacing.

“I don't believe in coincidences. The timing was too precise. And when you attacked, when you lost control I…I felt a connection.” He shook his head. “I wanted you to move away and you did as I was just forming the thought in my mind. I saw you go for the kill of one of my men and I wished you would miss. Just to lessen that power even a little. And yet in your chaos, your frenzy, you did.”  He voice was amazed. Solas was so seldom surprised. Celaena loved the wonder on his face- it reminded her of the innocence so few elves possessed these days.

“Believe me, none of it was my intention,” Celaena said. She took a sip of her cold tea. Her hand shook.

“Exactly,” Solas murmured.  Solas hands smooth over the papers on the desk idly. He flicked through a volume before closing it. As if all was well. Celaena felt fire catch in her throat once more

“So what, you control my body now?” she shouted. She slammed her fists on the table, standing tall. “After eight months? Solas how the fuck does that even make sense?! I don't understand what you are trying to say here!”  He opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. He frowned, but seemed inquisitive, not angry. He raised one hand.

“Allow me to try something,” he suggested calmly. Celaena snorted.  

“You will anyway. I'm not exactly going anywhere.”  She made an angry gesture at their surroundings. Solas flinched. He went back to the foot of the table. It felt like hours before he spoke again.

“Celaena, raise your right hand for me.”  Celaena wrinkled her nose. She raised her right hand, wiggling her fingers.

“Oh yes, look. The compulsion is real,” she said in mock-horror. Solas’ mouth twitched.  

“Please stand for me. I know you are fatigued but indulge me.” Celaena looked down as the room swayed and spun. 

“I can't feel my feet,” she said. Yet she stood nonetheless with a white knuckled grip on the table.

“Only a fraction more,” Solas promised. He thought for a moment “Take two steps forward, one step back.”  Celaena stared at her feet. The floor had an awful lot of dust on it. Just how long had this castle been abandoned? She stepped forward a little, then stepped backwards.

“This is-“  she began. As she stepped back, the world titlted sideways. The red outline grew darker around Solas’ face.

“Celaena!” he said, lunging forwards. Celaena held up a hand to stop him. She righted herself against the desk, standing straight.  

“Don't” she warned in a faded voice. “I'm fine.” She frowned as the world seemed to glisten. Like it was raining and everything was drenched.  “I feel sick again. Forgive me if I vomit all over your marble tables.” He moved a sheet of paper, attempting subtly as he frowned with what Celaena almost hoped was concern.  

“Just a little more,” he promised. “Sit in this chair. Don't look away from me.”  Celaena’s gaze snapped to his. His eyes widened ever so slightly as she slid immediately into the chair.

“What kind of magic is-“ she snapped.

“Give me your hand.”  Solas held his own out towards her. Celaena’s hand moved towards him.

“Stop it! I don't want-“  Everything quivered, shook. Her hand landed in his palm. He clasped it with his smooth skin. His fingers were fire against her ice cold skin. Her skin was freckled, scarred. His was pale, like he’d spent too long inside studying.

“Don't let go Celaena,” he whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He caressed her hand against his own, thumbs smoothing tiny circles against her calloused fingers.  She couldn’t look away.

“You feel ill, yes? A sickness?”  he asked as he studied her face- noting the pallor of her skin, the sweat tricking down her temple.

“I can't breathe.”  

“Don't let go Celaena. Please.”  He smiled at her but his voice was begging. Not just out of scholarly curiosity. Like he wanted to hold her. And then Celaena began standing, leaning towards him, mouth open as if to say something. Solas made a hissing sound, a startled gasp and broke away with a step backwards. He stormed away to one of the book shelves, leaning an arm against it as if he were the one about to collapse. The world dyed red, other colours slipping away as Celaena’s vision swam. She was trembling she realised, sweat rolling across the body that once again became her own.  

“Shit,” she whispered as her knees buckled. She knocked her elbow against the desk with a slam as she slid towards the floor. Her phantom arm pulsed, as if protesting all the horrors afflicting her body. It took Solas a moment to realise she was on the floor. She couldn't breathe. There was no air. No space. No room to think. No time. Too much.  

“Celaena,” he said, kneeling before her in a second. He turned to the door. 

“Come!” He shouted. “Prepare a room and draw some water. Tell Falana and Shari to draw back here immediately. I need them. And get a healer.”  She saw shadows flicker to the doorway in a second. The room was abuzz with activity.

“I won’t be kept here!” Celaena whispered. Her voice erupted in her throat. “You don’t even know how powerful I’ve become.” Then the world really did become red, as fire erupted all around her. Her left arm, what was left of it, pulsed with green light. Like veins or roots of a tree, the light crawled across her body. It brought cool clarity, relief. Solas was still in the circle of fire but as the green light pulsed outwards, he was sent flying back across the hall. There was a roar of defiance from the gathering crowd. Celaena stood in the centre of her burning surroundings, smoke billowing off her body. She took a deep breath.

“Whatever this is, you don’t control all of me. I’m still the Inquisitor.” 


	5. From Ancient Lips

“Solas,” Celaena laughed. “What are you doing?” The sunset slid through the arched window, illuminating his crouched figure from behind. He seemed aglow as he raised his head and smiled. Celaena had returned to her rooms to find him huddled on the floor around a mess of books, maps and papers. Half the contents of her bookcase had been raided and ended up on the majority of her floor.  

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he said warmly. “Your meeting finished early.” Celaena was still giggling, leaning over the bannister to watch him. She brushed her hair back from her face so she could soak up the sight- Solas in her rooms in Skyhold, absorbed in some research or story.  

“We decided to wait until we had the full scouting report,” Celaena replied. “No point discussing outposts until we know more about the place itself.” She finished her ascent of the stairs, coming to the old Orlesian rug Solas sat cross legged on. “What's all this?”  

“I wanted to do some light reading before we set out to the Emerald Graves,” Solas said. His hand absently pulled her to the floor beside him. “And I know how extensive your collection of Orlesian literature is. I hope you do not mind me coming up here.” The faintest hint of a blush appeared on his cheeks. She grinned, her face aching from smiling so much.   

“Of course not,” she said. “Did you find anything?” His ears twitched as he sat a little straighter, his eyes alight with excitement.  

“I found a most curious folktale, along with a volume of recent folklore and rumours on the region,” he said. “Some are outlandish but others recur. How interesting it is, that the same story gets told over and over again no matter whose people it is.”  

“You mean human tales?” Celaena said, fingering through one of the volumes. Solas pointed to a specific passage in another book. 

“Overlapping with elven ones,” he said. “The same star crossed lovers, the same landmarks, the same tragic endings. It is like peering into a Fade memory.” Celaena grunted as she stood once more. She rolled the sleeves of her tunic up. 

“I'm glad you had such fun without me,” she said, heading to the balcony. She flung the glass doors open, taking a grateful gulp of the crisp twilight air. “Maybe I should leave you to your stories.” She leaned on the stone railings, staring at the snowy peaks around them, the pink and amber clouds fading into the distance. Solas’ hands crept around her waist a few moments later, his body pressed against hers. She tried not to shiver, to relish the lapping waves of heat that rushed through her.  

“I was waiting for my own lover,” he said, nuzzling his face into her shoulder. He kissed her neck, his lips tracing along her pulse. Celaena held back a gasp.  

“Do you not get sad?” She said. “Reading, seeing such sad memories all the time? Do you wish you could change it?” She squirmed in his grip, turning to face him. His smile faded as he cocked his head. His look was appraising.  

“The world is filled with a thousand stories,” he said. “Both this one and the fade. Not all are sad.”  

“I want to change them, reading them sometimes,” she said. “The lovers on the bridge. If someone jilted me so, I'd set them on fire and ruin their life for decades.” Solas kept looking at her strangely. Then he laughed, his hands tightening on her waist. Celaena fell against him giggling, clinging to those safe shoulders. Solas glanced down at her, to the way her sweaty tunic clung to frame, the playful glimmer in her eyes and the the weariness in her movements. The way her lips parted ever so slightly when she was near him. In a moment, his hands clung to her face, pulling her into him. His lips collided with hers like a stroke of lighting, all chaotic power and speed. He always kissed her so desperately- as if it were the first and last time he'd ever touched her. She adored it. She opened her mouth to let him in. She felt fire crawl across her skin, flinching as he touched her, leaving a burning trail. His hands were on her buttocks, pulling her against him. He plucked her small frame from the floor, carried her from the balcony. Their mouths never left one another as he brought them to the bed. He laid them down on their sides- always so they were equal, so she could choose the position. He never crawled over her, took control. He let her choose. That day she wanted him above her, so she could look into his face and know she was his in that moment. They fell against the covers, Celaena’s hands tugging at his top. His hands were already tearing at the buttons of her own tunic. They broke away so she could tear her clothes away. The air in the room was stuffy. The smell of dinner wafted up from somewhere outside. The sun stung at her eyes as she regarded him for a moment. She was on the bed, Solas crouched over her. Her hands were on his back, beneath his tunic. He smiled down at her. A hand came to cup her cheek, his thumb smoothing over the dimple there. She beamed at him, her  _arla_ , her  _elgara_. Even if Corypheus attacked in the next moment, even if they met the harshest winter, war from all sides, she wouldn't care as long as she had these moments. This place, her home, her friends, her lover. That was all that mattered anymore- not the clan or the elves or the Dalish. She wrapped her legs around Solas, entangling them, and leaned in to kiss him deeply. She opened her mouth wider as his tongue slipped in. Fire filled her mouth, her lungs, every patch of skin he brushed with steady hands. Her body was hot liquid, roaring under skin, growing more feverish with every tender stroke of his fingers. He pulled away to worry at her neck with hungry teeth. Celaena gasped as he bit down into her neck, sucking at the skin there. Her hands trembled as they pried the tunic from his body. They broke away so he could throw it the floor. She tried not to let herself stare at his skin, the lean muscle too long before they came together again. She felt the muscles of his chest, his stomach flex against her as he closed every inch between them. His hands brushed against her stomach. On hand cupped her hip, bringing it against his own, whilst the other found her breast. He found her mouth again, sucking urgently at her lip. Celaena cried out, a long moan and arched her back against him as he squeezed her breast. He cupped it in his hand, whilst his other hand came up. His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple, kneading them in his hands.  

“Solas,” Celaena cried out. “Ah!” Her fingers clawed at his back as he worked his hands harder, crushing her chest. She moaned against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She felt their hips rock ever so slightly in rhythm. Solas grew hard beneath her. Her body hummed with boiling blood, the feeling of fainting and bursting at the same. Without thinking she felt her hands plunge down to his pants-  

“Wait!” She gasped. She tore herself away, crawling to the other side of the bed. She tugged at her crumpled underclothes, pulling her vest back over her chest. Solas stared at her across the bed, mouth open, face flushed. He glanced from her to his cupped hands lying dead in his lap. Celaena hid behind a mess of starlight hair, turning away.  

“ _Ir Abelas_ ,” she stammered. “I just… I'm not used to…can we?”  

“Don't apologise,” Solas said, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. “We do not have to do anything you do not want.”  

“ _Abelas_ ,” she kept muttering. “I'm sorry Solas, it's not you.” She repeated the lie a few more times before he leaned across the bed once more. His hand found her face, stroked her hair away.  

“It is fine  _vhenan_ ,” he said. “We are alright.” He'd say that no matter the situation- if they were crammed hiding in a cave from a dragon, if they were running from undead, if they got caught out in the rain, if they spilt ink over Cassandra’s novels. “It will be fine.” She smiled at him, holding his hand.  

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” she whispered.  

“ _Ar lath, ma vhenan_ ,” Solas said in return. There was a pause. 

“Will you tell me about the stories you found?” She asked. His face returned to normal as he nodded eagerly. They kept holding hands as they went back to the floor, bent over books. His hand would thread around her waist again after he was sure she had calmed down. And she would be almost entirely his, pouring over those books, talking history and ancient stories. But a tiny part of her almost ran, screamed in her mind, told her to escape. She was always the first to pull away- because it was him usually pulling away. If she ran first, maybe she wouldn't have to see him stop, to pull away himself. Maybe she could run far enough from the fear she would lose everything. She leaned into his shoulder as he compared a map of a forest to the map of a street in Val Royeaux. She tried to ignore the only flame that never left her body, burning in her arm. The only fire that had nothing to do with Solas.  

 

* * *

 

Celaena woke up choking, barely able to breathe. She rolled onto her side, trying to rake in cool breaths. The air was tight, smoky, filled with dirt. She wheezed some more, pulling herself to sit up. She was in a smoggy landscape, everything dyed in greys but for the clouds of green light that glinted in the distance. Celaena swore as she scrambled to her feet. A moment ago she had been setting a library on fire- and now she was in the Fade. And then that memory coming from nowhere? Celaena swore again and kicked at the dirt on the ground. She seemed relatively intact or to be more exact, the same. Her half arm thrummed with rhythmic pain like a heartbeat. She felt hot and cold all at once and her limbs felt wobbly and unstable. The usual. She held a hand out to a wisp of green smoke. It coiled around her fingers, and then dispersed.

“No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost,” echoed a voice. Celaena spun to find she was still alone. She stopped walking forwards.

“Tell me what this is,” Celaena said. The whispers were faint at first, mistaken for the wind that whipped through the grey wasteland. Then Celaena heard them, a plethora of every emotion, whispering in elven. The green light paled to blue, as azure smoke poured through around Celaena’s feet. She almost rolled her eyes at the drama of it all. She dug her heels into the dirt.

“Let me guess,” Celaena called into the abyss. “ _Garas quenathra_?”

“You knew the price,” a voice boomed above the others. “Now you quake and shiver as it ripples through you.” Celaena frowned. She peered to her arm but it was no more painful than usual. She had only felt such a presence, a waking dream, one other time.

“ _Mythal'enaste_ ,” she murmured. “That’s what this is about.”

“You forget the gift graced upon you so readily,” the voice snapped.

“What’s this about?” Celaena asked once more.

“You are bound to her will. To the will of the whomsoever serves Mythal.”

“Mythal? The _Vir’abelasan_ ,” Celaena said, wracking her brain to follow some pattern. “This is about the power of the well. You’re saying the will is being evoked?”

“You deny your place!” the voice roared with an angry ripple of blue smoke. Celaena coughed and fought to keep her feet firmly planted in the ground. “You made a pact! You serve the will of Mythal! Resistance will only result in further agony for your pitiful earthly form.” The voice grew to a roar. Celaena cried out as pain erupted in her chest, stealing the air from her lungs. She fell to the floor, covering her ears as the very ground shook. Curled in a ball she willed herself to remember where she really was- laid somewhere in her own flames burning up the world around her. Her arm flared defiantly with emerald light. The blue and green clashed, burnt her vision and engulfed everything.

“ _Halam'shivanas_.”


	6. Frozen Footsteps

Celaena gasped as she sprang awake. Her fingers fanned across the bed she laid on, groping for her staff. Her half-arm flailed uselessly. After a moment’s disorientation, she looked down at herself and raked in a deep breath. She lay on a bed of heavy wool blankets, piled one on top of the other. _I spend far too much time in this damned castle asleep,_ she thought. She kicked the layers away. Someone had stripped her to her underclothes and bandaged some wounds on her arms and chest. She shuddered at the invasion of privacy, but she was a prisoner after all. What more could she expect? The room she awoke in was decidedly showier than her last accommodation. It was slightly larger, with a great arched window that overlooked grey mountains and fog. The furniture was good solid wood, practical and lightly carved with floral designs. A woven screen separated part of the room. A large wardrobe stood open. Celaena pulled herself off the bed with a groan. Her bare feet were ice on the cold wood floor. She hobbled to the wardrobe. A few clothes hung inside, mostly plain tunics and pants, with one dress and night clothes. Spread tentatively at the base was her metallic arm, wiped clean of blood. She crouched to examine it and found some of the connections and belts were missing. Not exactly functional but if she needed to she could bludgeon someone over the head with it. Curled up beside it was her belt. Celaena hissed in a breath, snatching it up and bringing it to the bed. She plucked the pouches away from the main leather. If her enemies had inspected her belongings, they had left everything intact. A few tiny vials of elfroot potion she had forgotten were there, a roll of linen bandage and a folded scout’s letter all remained in their assigned place. And in the biggest pouch, secured by leather string, was Dorian’s crystal. Celaena glanced to her door. No doubt it was locked, but she had to be sure. She hurried towards it, grasping the doorknob. She couldn’t even shake the door- it was firmly locked and barred with an impressive amount of metal. But no force field this time. Narrowing her eyes, Celaena hurried back to her bed. She cupped the cold stone in her hands and concentrated on her breathing. She imagined her friend, smirk on his face, gallivanting around Tevinter high society and causing a great stir. She smiled despite the situation. The crystal began to glow, slowly warming her clammy hands.

“Dorian?” Celaena whispered.

“Inquisitor!” a voice boomed from the crystal. Celaena had told him more times than she could count not to call her that but he apparently still found it hilarious. “I was beginning to wonder whether you had forgotten me. Not that anyone can really forget me, I mean look at me.”

“Dorian,” Celaena said. “I need your help.” Dorian’s light tone soured.

“Celaena,” he said slowly. “What have you gone and done now?”

“I’m trapped. I- I found Solas. Something’s wrong with me. He’s keeping me here. My magic, I can’t control it. Something’s wrong.”

“ _Kaffas._ ”

 

It took Celaena longer than expected to describe what had occurred the last few days. She had to explain so many intricacies- how she wasn’t there willingly, how she hadn’t joined Solas in any sense of the word, the strange compulsion that shook her.

“ _Kaffas_ ,” Dorian said again. He’d sworn an awful lot over the last few minutes. “How do you get yourself into these situations?”

“It comes with being an elf I think,” Celaena sighed. “Always something going wrong.” She stared at the door, ready to toss the crystal across the room the moment the wood so much as creaked.  

“Describe what you see out of the window,” Dorian asked. “Perhaps we can determine where it is you’re being kept.” Celaena looked out of the window.

“Clouds,” she said. “Lots of them.”

“As much as I love your sarcasm, we need facts right now,” Dorian said. Celaena chewed on her lip.

“Honestly, that is all I see. Grey slate mountains forever. We’re far away from society. The architecture seems Tevinter but…Damnit I don’t know.”

“Well, we know you are in Tevinter,” Dorian replied. His tone was urgent. “I can send some people to investigate any rumours of increased elven activity, perhaps some rogue group. Any information could help.”

“Thank you,” Celaena said. “But I don’t know…I think I’m on my own with this one.”

“I am here, Inquisitor,” Dorian said. Celaena hung her head, staring into the pale glow of the crystal.

“I’m not the Inquisitor anymore,” she murmured.

“But there are many who still care for you,” Dorian replied in a fierce tone. Celaena flinched. Silence hung between them for a moment. She could imagine his face so clearly, as if he were sat opposite her. He’d sit tall in tailored finery, all strong Tevinter majesty. She’d look like a weary servant beside him without all her armour and magic to hide her small frame. Dorian spoke again. “It...alarms me to hear you are ill. I thought we were done with all this Anchor business.” Celaena examined her bandages with a grimace.

“That makes two. But I have my suspicions. I believe it isn’t just whatever pestilence the Anchor left in me- I think it may be something to do with the Well of Sorrows also.”

“What does Solas have to do with that?” Dorian scoffed. Every time Dorian mentioned his name it was like he was mildly disgusted- no one on her team had taken the blow particularly well.

“Well, he is technically a God; I imagine that may have an impact on many things,” Celaena reminded him. Her tone was acid.

“Has he spoken to you?” Dorian asked. Celaena made a groaning noise.

“Only to observe and prod me like some experiment. All I know is he isn’t letting me go anytime soon. I’d say he seems worried but that could just be me being optimistic.”

“Punch him in the face and run. A swift kick to the shins and you’ll be off,” Dorian shouted a little too lively. Celaena’s eyes darted to the door.

“Well I tried to burn the place down already but it didn’t work out so well,” she sighed.

“Ah. Hrm.” They fell silent. Celaena found herself pressing the crystal against her face, wanting some sort of closeness to anyone.

“Dorian, what do I do?” she whispered. “I can’t leave, I don’t know what Solas wants and I can barely move.” Dorian remained quiet for a moment, taken aback by the vulnerability Celaena was showing.

“Andraste knows I’m familiar with feeling trapped,” he said, his usual sassy tone returning. “What we need is more information.” Hearing him say “we” made her heart ache. In just a few days, she missed her allies more than she had ever missed her old clan. Celaena heard footsteps echoing on the stone outside. Someone was humming.

“ _Fenedhis_!” Celaena cursed. “Someone’s coming. Don’t contact me. I’ll contact you.”

“Be safe, Inquisitor. I will do what I can.” Celaena shoved the crystal under her covers as the door creaked open. A tall elf woman held a pile of clothes in one hand and a pitcher of water in the other.

“Oh!” she squeaked. “You’re awake. We had begun to worry you’d be out for days.” Celaena wondered if “we” included Solas. She narrowed her eyes.

“Not dead yet,” she murmured. The woman pretended she hadn’t heard.

“I brought you a change of clothes,” she said. “As well as some fresh water. Food will be up momentarily- I heard you love the basics so it’s just fresh bread and cheese I’m afraid.” She neatly placed the clothes into the wardrobe. Celaena took the chance to stuff the crystal back into her belt. The woman turned back to her.

“Would you like me to draw you a bath?” she asked. Celaena wrinkled her nose.

“Does it not disgust you, feeling like a servant under another elf? Does that not go against everything we fight for?” The woman’s face remained pleasant, without flinching or showing any sign of irritation.

“I serve Fen’Harel,” she said. “I help my people. What is there to dislike?” Celaena snorted.

“I don’t want you waiting on me hand and foot,” Celaena insisted.

“You are very sick, Inquisitor. You need your rest and as much help as you can get.”

“I’m perfectly capable of drawing my own bloody bath,” Celaena hissed. The woman shrugged.

“I shall go and gather your food,” she said. “I’ll go warm some water for the bath too.” She exited the room, locked the door with a click and continued down the corridor. Her humming disappeared after a moment. Celaena looked to the wardrobe, narrowing her eyes. She felt like a doll, ready to be primped and polished before she would be presented to Solas for more experimentation. But with the room swimming and her mind running on fumes, she didn’t have the energy to conjure a spark, let alone melt the metal locks from the door. Celaena began inspecting her room. Maybe she could break one of the chairs to fashion some cruel stake. The thought of killing another elf just for her freedom made her stomach turn. She still saw the blank dead faces of Solas’ followers in the caves when she concentrated hard enough. Death usually came easier to her- she had little remorse for her enemies. Yet she still found it hard to believe that Solas even was her enemy. Fen’Harel certainly was- but what did that make Solas?

 

Martha, as the elf woman was named, was a particularly vigilant jailer. Within minutes she was back with food. Celaena wolfed it down, turning her back on the woman as she filled the bath with fresh water. As if shying away from the woman’s sunny presence would give Celaena any kind of privacy. Celaena had insisted on warming the water up with her own magic.

“Goodness no!” Martha said in her heavy Orlesian accent. “We can’t have you using any kind of magic in your condition. You could set the library on fire again.” She chuckled. Celaena glared at Martha, wishing looks could severely wound others. So Celaena watched Martha pour boiling kettle after kettle into the bath. Finally she finished. Celaena shot up from her bed. Martha pulled the woven screen aside and stood by the bath with her hands clasped.

“Do you need help undressing?” she asked.

“No,” Celaena snapped.

“Then I’ll just help you undo your bandages,” Martha said, starting forwards. Celaena held out her arms to keep the eager woman at bay.

“Stop it!” she shouted. Martha tried to angle around her but Celaena shot across the other side of the room. “You are not helping at all!”

“I’m afraid the master insisted you be left alone as little as possible,” Martha said, same giant smile plastered across her face. “I am not going anywhere.” Celaena quivered with anger. She stared at Martha.

“Andraste’s flaming tits!” she cursed. “Fine! I’m already a prisoner, why not add child to the list?” She yanked the undergarments over her head and down her legs, tossing them onto the bed. She hauled herself into the bath, bandages and all. She dunked her head under so she didn’t have to hear Martha’s babbling but when she came back up for air she was talking again.

“- really can’t just jump in like that!” she said, hurrying to the tub. She yanked Celaena’s arms up and began unravelling the sodden linen. Celaena winced as the raw red burns hit the hot water. They had already healed some but the fact she had harmed herself unknowingly made her shiver despite the warmth. Martha handed her a bar of soap. Celaena began methodically scrubbing at her skin, pretending she was in Skyhold all over again, wiping away the blood after a hard day. It was not the same.

 

“I’m not sitting around waiting for him,” Celaena snapped. “I’ll set the room on fire _again_ if I have to.”

“Inquisitor,” Martha said, arms flailing as Celaena tightened her belt around her waist. “He cannot see you right now and you need your rest.”

“Can’t see me or isn’t here?” Celaena said. She watched Martha’s face. She flinched. Celaena allowed herself a small triumphant grin. “He’s not here.”

“Oh please Inquisitor! You are not well; the master is only trying to help.”

“ _The Master_ has an odd way of trying to help,” Celaena replied. “Because locking a self-destructive mage up in a tower full of insane devouts is such a good idea. It worked so well for the Circles and the Templars.”  Celaena picked up her metal arm, considering strapping it on despite how useless it was without the other pieces. She dropped it back into the wardrobe. She adjusted her tunic in the mirror. It was a rich navy blue and baggy, the way Celaena liked. She knotted her red scarf around her neck and tried not to think about how ill she looked.

“Martha, if you don’t let me out, I will blow the door down,” Celaena said. “There’s no force field this time, which was a mistake because I will smash it to pieces unless you tell me.”

“He’s not here Inquisitor!” Martha said. “He will be back soon and I am sure he will wish to speak with you right away. But I can’t let you beyond the castle walls.”

“Then at least let me walk the castle,” Celaena said. “Am I allowed to even stretch my legs? Would you keep me in this cage to rot?” Martha faltered. She leaned against the door, thinking hard.

“He said you may wait in his chambers,” she said after a long moment. “If you really insist.” Celaena fought back a blush.

“Take me to his chambers then,” Celaena said. “I’m not waiting any longer. He has to see me. I want to be the first damn thing he sees. I want to be the only thing on his mind right now.”

 

 


	7. Author's Note

Update time!

As I mentioned before I’m in the process of writing a novel. Exciting stuff! Anyway I’m at the very end and its crunch time. I need to get it done and all my energy is going into finishing that at the moment. It bleeds into my free time too, making it impossible to write anything else right now. But this isn’t the end! I’m just going on hiatus. It should only take a month or two hopefully. Once I’ve finished the first draft I have some time off, when I will return here and write more adventures of the egg and his angsty inquisitor. So I thank you all for your patience and support so far. Please bear with me and my awkward crippled body as I complete my novel. I’ll be back soon!

 


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